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Distant memories are nothing more,
Than what we see their name entails.
They are something that can never recur,
An old flame that could dryly burn out.
An action marked with new symbols and blight,
Replace the figurines of childish mirth and good heart.
Something that could never be bought,
Winds its way into the age of new life.
When decisions were simple and merely a game,
A thought could be erased without even a pause.
Now with every moment wasted on time,
Another refute marks what couldn't be told.
Those distant memories are a refuge now;
Only an escape from the hole I have dug.
Decisions I thought would turn best for me,
Disrupt my good luck and turns cold my good sense.
That old good time I know I once had,
Changed into what I now call my hummingbird.
Never to go back and again laugh and banter,
I find will to continue without central ease.
But what I want more than anything I ask,
Is to make new those distant memories.